I’ve mentioned that every night, my host mother and I take a hike. “Hiking” is one of the few English words my host mother says. After dinner, she’ll laugh at me when I ask, “Hiking?” I don’t know if she is amused by my enthusiasm, or if she knows the true meaning of the word hiking, and realizes that what we are doing doesn’t exactly qualify.
(I’M FROM THE MIDWEST. I REFER TO ANY NON-FLAT WALKING AS HIKING.*)
I wear hiking boots — and oftentimes, hiking pants — on our walks, for protection. This is good because the other night, after hiking, I found a tick on my leg. And this happened shortly after a training with our (awesome) Peace Corps doctor, who warned us of all the terrible afflictions we could suffer due to tick bites.
On Sunday, I went on a real hike with my site mates, Charlie and Sierra, in the village where we live.
And here’s a picture of our view. Overcast, but pretty, isn’t it?
After I got home from our hike, I took a nap on my bedroom floor. I guess my host mom walked in on me, which I wasn’t aware of until I woke up and she told me. She was laughing as she mimicked me sleeping on the floor, flat on my back, arms at my sides, and apparently, with my mouth gaping open. Serves me right for not locking my door! #hostfamilyproblems 🙂
*Lest you think I’m not an experienced hiker, I’ve hiked the Green Mountains in Vermont, Joshua Tree National Park, and the Olympic Peninsula, just to name a few places. So there!